


Sweet As

by relic_amaranth



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Baking, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, Pre-Avengers (2012), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21948745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Natasha didn’t know she would like soft things but SHIELD surprises her in a number of ways– this time, with you.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 170





	Sweet As

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Fluff, Reader is a softie, Natasha is a softie at heart, Christmas fic, references to baking/candy making ~~(I'm hungry)~~ , set pre-Avengers
> 
> A/N: Friendly reminder that I occasionally glance at canon and then tend to throw it out the window, so sorry if characterizations don’t match. I’m keeping “MCU Avengers” for fandom because it’s in that universe but in my head this is set in a nebulous time before the movies where Natasha has been working for SHIELD for a little while but she’s still a little wary/kinda feral. But she’s still the Natasha in my head and I Love Her. This thing went places I didn’t expect but I am very pleased I finished it before Christmas (￣ω￣) Happy whatever you celebrate, even if all you celebrate is ‘having a good Wednesday.’ I hope tomorrow is most excellent. /hugs

“So what are you angling for?”

Natasha barely looks askance at Clint, still sour on how he handled that truck during the mission, but he just nods in your direction and Natasha turns her head back to where she was already looking before Clint’s nonsensical question. You’re bobbing your head to Christmas music and typing away at the front desk of this field office that few other agents like to be stuck at– except around Christmas. She doesn’t get it. It isn’t _that_ far from headquarters, and as far as receptionists go you’re much better at your job year-round than anyone in DC. And she does like talking to you. You’re nothing like she would expect from SHIELD, and while Natasha is fine with curt and formal, sometimes she likes being welcomed. You scratch that itch.

“It’s holiday baking season,” Clint says and leans in closer, but not too close to make Natasha uncomfortable. She might forgive his terrible driving someday. “So what were you trying to sweet-talk her into making?”

“I wasn’t trying to ‘sweet-talk’ anything. I was making polite conversation with someone who _doesn’t_ crash cars into houses.”

“Aw, you can tell me. Come on, what’s your favorite?”

Natasha bristles. You’re completely oblivious to all of this, now too far away to hear the quiet conversation while you fiddle with something at a table on the other side of the room, and the guard in the corner looks bored. Good, because it’s going to be one of _those_ conversations with Clint, she can feel it, and she’s just too tired; she just wants to get chewed out by Fury already and be officially done with this mission.

Clint leans back, resting his head in his hands. “I hope she makes the peppermint bark again; that was _so_ good.”

Natasha’s stomach grumbles. She sighs.

“Ooo, were you here for the Ooey Gooey Holiday Bars? And the Santa Snack Mix. But you seem like you’d be into the classics. Were you trying for the sugar cookies?”

“I wasn’t trying for anything.”

“That smile you gave her totally betrayed you. Is it the homemade eggnog? Oh, but you like chocolate! Fudge maybe? But which _kind_?”

Natasha may not be a native speaker, but she’s damn good at a variety of languages and she always knows when she’s being made fun of. It rankles. Thankfully sometimes Clint has _some_ self-preservation. “I’m sorry Nat,” he says and scoots away a little. “I was just trying to figure out what we might get next; that’s all.”

Natasha sits primly. “You’ll have to ask her.”

Indeed, the next moment you come over, bearing steaming hot mugs of sweetly-smelling chocolate. “I’m sorry about the wait,” you say. “I’m sure you’ll be seen very soon. In the meantime I hope this keeps you warm.”

Natasha doesn’t know what you’re on about– it is _incredibly_ warm in this office, especially with your own body heat so close to add to the mix– but she takes the cup with a polite “thank you.”

 _Someone_ has to be polite, since Clint takes a gulp and then lets out a wholly inappropriate moan. “Is this the homemade stuff?”

“Straight from the Tupperware,” you say proudly. “I hope it’s good; if it isn’t I do have some powdered mix.”

Clint gives you such a severe look that actually shocks Natasha– she’s never seen it before– but your laugh puts her back at ease. “Well, hopefully it helps; I heard you guys had a rough ride in.” You look at Natasha and bite your lip nervously. “Do you like it?”

“It’s very good,” Natasha says and takes a sip. It’s hot, creamy, and does indeed do wonders for the urge to flip Clint into a wall.

You smile wide and you lean in close to whisper, “I gave you extra marshmallows.” Then you wink and go right back to your desk. You trip just before you make it into your chair but you slip into it and start typing again like nothing happened. Natasha smiles into her cup.

Clint is uncharacteristically silent for several seconds before he says, “Is my hearing aid still fritzing or did she give you _extra marshmallows_?”

Natasha’s smile curls into something even better.

“I think she likes you.”

The sparring session is over and Clint is lying on his back, breathing heavily. Their dressing-down hadn’t been as bad as Natasha had thought it would be, but the end of it had left them both still a little wired and so they had come to the gym to burn off the lingering anxiety.

Natasha is looking forward to crawling into bed soon, but Clint is looking at her expectantly. She eyes him warily as she sips her water, but the nonsensical statement is not followed by anything resembling an intent to attack. Once she’s had enough time to think, she pulls the bottle from her lips. “Who?”

“ _You_ know.” Clint raises his eyebrows and says your name. “No one, and I mean _no one_ , ever gets extra marshmallows.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and Clint springboards to his feet. “No, really!” he insists and sits down on the bench with his own water bottle, practically choking on half the contents before he says, “Christmas treats are _serious_ business around here and she always makes sure everything is ridiculously fair.”

“Stop being an idiot,” Natasha says, in vain.

“I’m not– oh, hey Bobbi!” Clint says and waves.

Agent Morse sees him and turns from her path to the locker rooms to approach them, a workout bag slung over her shoulder. “Barton. Romanoff.”

“Did you get some of that hot chocolate?” Clint asks.

“Of course. I think this was the best batch yet.” Bobbi’s eyes glaze over for a moment and then she snaps back to the professional Natasha is used to. “You’re lucky you got any; she had to defend your share with her life.”

“Some of us are luckier than others,” Clint says. “Natasha got _extra marshmallows_.”

Bobbi scoffs, but she looks between the two of them and her expression pinches into something overly sincere. “Are you serious?”

“Morse!” Hill calls out as she strides in, making all three of them flinch. “Why aren’t you changed?”

“Romanoff got extra marshmallows.”

Hill’s simmering displeasure dissipates and she whips her head to stare at Natasha. “Seriously?”

“They’re _marshmallows_ ,” Natasha says, wondering what is in the air and if she can avoid catching it.

“They’re _handmade_ ,” Clint says. “I’m not joking when I say holiday sweets are Serious Business around here. Didn’t you wonder why Fury is stationed here for the next month?”

Natasha throws her hands up, snatches her bag, and turns on her heel. “I’m going to bed; _goodnight_.”

When she’s almost out the front door, you’re cleaning up your station. “Goodnight Agent Romanoff!” you say.

Natasha…isn’t as annoyed anymore, so she turns and smiles at you. “Good night.”

Sure, you look a little…flustered…but Natasha assumes she still looks ragged from her workout and chalks it up to that.

But it doesn’t stop.

When she’s next making small talk with you and you give her a small bag of chocolates and Clint gives her a ‘knowing’ look, she wants to kick something.

When Agent May stops in and sees Natasha’s ‘stocking’ on the wall with everyone else’s, and then looks Natasha up and down before sharing a look with Morse and Hill, Natasha wants to strangle someone.

When Fury sees Natasha hastily stuffing another small cellophane-wrapped treat into her bag and then wordlessly hands Natasha a pamphlet on SHIELD’s workplace romance policy before turning and walking away, she wants to yell.

When you hand her a mug of hot chocolate with one large heart-shaped marshmallow floating on top, she…

…she doesn’t know what she wants to do.

Natasha is killing time on a punching bag, waiting for word from medical, when someone enters the room. She stills, tense and ready for whatever she’s going to get from Fury or Hill, but the footsteps are uneven and hesitant.

Natasha turns and watches you as you carefully walk across the mats. Natasha doesn’t know what she’s going to say– this is _not_ the right time for this conversation– but apparently it doesn’t matter how unprepared and out of sorts she is because you’re leaning in and–

“So, um, don’t tell Fury, but Morales is going to text you when Clint is out of surgery and you’ll have ten minutes to run over and see him.”

Natasha blinks and stares as you pull back, fidgeting with your hands again. No amount of sweet-talking or threatening had done _her_ any good, so… “How?”

You look elsewhere when you say, “I promised him a tray of something he really, really likes,” but you look at her resolutely when you add, “But I’m sworn to secrecy so don’t even ask.”

Even Coulson had lightly made fun of how Morales had lusted after the pan of butterscotch-something-or-other bars, so she can guess. However. “Why?” Natasha asks. “Why are you hel– why are you so interested in me?”

You look surprised for a brief moment. And then you shrug. Natasha had not expected that, but she listens when you start speaking. “You laugh at my dumb puns and you made a “Terminator” joke that made Agent May threaten to kill you and you fixed my computer better than IT ever could. You’re smart and brave and strong and, yes, pretty, and I like you and I want to know you better.”

“I’m a killer,” Natasha reminds you.

“This is SHIELD,” you remind her. “I wish I couldn’t say so, but everyone here is at least a little twisted and broken.” You shrug again. “It’s one of the reasons I started bringing in goodies at Christmas, actually. If you don’t have anyone or get stuck at work for a long time this can be a strange and lonely time of year, even if you don’t celebrate.” You squint. “Maybe even especially if you don’t.”

You look at her again, a strange mix of confident and uncertain. “I like you, and even if you don’t like me like _that_ it’s okay and I’d still like to know you better. If…if you’re comfortable with that.”

Natasha has been up for almost 26 hours straight now and has spent five of those hours escaping a compound full of armed enemies. “I’ll have to think about it.”

You nod and step back. “Oh– and for the record,” you say. “Clint has always been very nice to me and I think he’d like to know you visited. Just…full disclosure.”

Natasha nods, but the second she moves her head is the second her phone buzzes in her pocket. You jump back and Natasha turns towards the door, already plotting the fastest path to medical, but she takes one step and then swings back over to you– and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you,” Natasha says, takes one glance at your bewildered, dreamy expression, and then strides out of the gym, now with a plan and steadily growing sense of peace. After she checks on Clint, she’s going to go home. She would go to sleep right away but…well, the pamphlet Fury gave her is still on her desk, and she has some reading to do before bed.

A few days later Natasha walks into the office during the dead time in the afternoon, when the guard is switching and on the outside of your reception area. You scramble to cover up your phone at the clicking of her heels, but when you see it’s just her you exhale deeply and smile.

Natasha smiles back, and walks over to drop the workplace romance policy on your desk. You go still and Natasha says, “I think, if we’re going to discuss this, then you should probably read this first.”

The way you hunch over the desk is a tell that she finds almost delightful. “I already, uh…I already…”

“You already read it.” Natasha leans over your desk and lowers her face conspiratorially. “That’s a little presumptuous, isn’t it?”

Anyone else might stammer, but you laugh. “I just like to be prepared,” you say and prop your chin in your hand.

“I can respect that,” Natasha says solemnly. “Have you thought about where you’re going to take me to dinner?”

Your eyes go wide. “Yes!”

“Good,” Natasha says and grabs your phone to put in her number. “Text me the address and we’ll meet there at seven. I have a job to do but I shouldn’t be late.”

“Okay. Okay! Seven, I will–” You clear your throat and compose yourself. “I’ll see you at seven. Nothing too fancy by the way, just kind of nice, and– oh, this is going to sound so stupid, but, uh you don’t– you don’t have any food allergies, do you?”

Natasha suppresses a laugh. “No, I don’t.” She leans back in closer to you. “I do have one request though.”

Your eyes are wide again as you wait for her to speak. Natasha reaches for your face and sweeps her fingers across your cheek. “Make sure it has good dessert,” she says and lightly tucks your chin. She smiles, and it feels nice. It feels real. “I’m in the mood for something sweet.”


End file.
